Motherless Boy
by JanetD
Summary: This story describes the death of Nick’s mom, and why/how Burton sends Nick to boarding school.
1. Chapter One

**Title:** Motherless Boy (1/2)  
**Date Written:** 1/28/02  
**Author:** JanetD  
**Rating:** PG (mild language)  
**Summary:** This story describes the death of Nick's mom, and why/how Burton sends Nick to boarding school.  
**Author's Notes:** 1) I've based Nick's mother's age on the information we were first given in . 2) I have no personal knowledge of prep schools. To paraphrase Nick, That is not my world. =) So I've just made some assumptions about what they're like, and where they might be located. 3) I wrote this story before we learned that Burton had actually moved back into the house with Nick and Anne before Anne's death.  
**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fiction. The characters in this story are borrowed from the TV show "The Guardian". No money is being made from this story. Any resemblance of a character in this story to any real person living or dead is purely coincidental. Likewise, any resemblance between an organization depicted in this story and any such actual organization is purely coincidental.  
  
January 1982  
  
Snow fell softly outside. The world was blanketed in a beautiful coat of white. Snow clung to the tree branches and shrubs creating a true winter wonderland.  
  
Inside the hospice, Anne Fallin, 39, moved restlessly in her bed. Her face was thin, and drawn with lines of pain. Her illness had progressed past the point where the drugs could completely block the pain now. Her once vibrant, dark hair was now dull and brittle, and hung in limp strands around her face. Her breathing was labored. She was a picture of misery.  
  
Her son, Nick, 12, sat in a chair drawn up close to the bed. He was an attractive boy, small for his age, but with blonde hair that curled at the ends. His eyes were wet with recent tears. He held his mother's hand in his. She had lost so much weight that the knuckles on the back of her hand stood out in stark relief. Anne's parents, Charles and Margaret Wentworth, stood at her bedside. Margaret's eyes were red and swollen, and tears ran down her face. But it was apparent, despite this, that she had once been a lovely woman. Her husband stood tall, and only slightly bent with age. He looked like the white-haired patrician that he was. The Wentworths were old money. Philadelphia blue bloods who had been initially dubious about their daughter's marriage to a man from a working class background like Burton Fallin.  
  
Anne stirred in her delirium, moaned, and spoke, but the words were incomprehensible. The doctors had said it would be any day now, and Anne was more than ready to let go of this life. Her body had waged a valiant 18 month struggle against the ovarian cancer, but from the outset it had been a losing battle. The cancer had been discovered too late for a cure to be effected. All the doctors could do was buy her more time, time to see her only son celebrate two more birthdays. She had been in the hospice for the last three weeks, in and out of consciousness. The doctors tried to find the right balance of pain medication, but it had gotten to the point now where if she was conscious, she was in almost unbearable pain. Her son and her parents ached inside to see someone they loved in so much agony.   
  
Anne tried to raise her head off the pillow, and spoke again, but this time the words could be understood, Nicky, Nicky, where are you?  
  
I'm right here, Mom, Nick said, his voice quavering.  
  
Burton. Where's, where's Burton? Anne asked.  
  
Dad's, uh, Dad's not here, Mom.  
  
Burton. I, I have to speak to Burton! I have to know he's going to take care of Nicky. He's going--  
  
Her mother interrupted her, Anne, dear, remember? You talked to Burton a few days ago. Everything is fine. He's going to take good care of Nicky, sweetheart. Don't worry.  
  
Anne shoulders relaxed back against the pillow, but her face was still a mask of pain.  
  
Suddenly, as if it had all become too much, Margaret broke into ragged sobs. Her husband pulled her against his shoulder, and attempted to soothe her, but she could not be comforted. Finally, he decided to take his wife outside the room to calm her down. He didn't want the sound of her mother's sobs to upset Anne, or disturb her in anyway. Although, in reality, it could not touch his daughter now. Charles said, Nicholas, I'm going to take your grandmother outside for a few minutes. All right?  
  
Nick nodded, but didn't turn his gaze away from his mother. They had broken the news to him yesterday morning that she was very near death. He had already known it, really, but hadn't wanted to admit it to himself. Hearing it put in words had been almost unbearable. He wondered where his dad was. He knew that his grandfather had called him at the office that morning. Dad had said he would be here, but so far, he hadn't come.  
  
Suddenly, Nick heard his mother give out a long, gurgling, almost rattling, sound. He had never heard her make a noise like that, and it scared him. He was almost ready to go to the door to fetch his grandparents when it stopped, and he relaxed. But then, in horror, he realized that his mother was not breathing. He sat there for a few seconds, gripped by fear. Then suddenly the paralysis that had grabbed him let go, and he ran for the door calling wildly for his grandparents, Grandmother! Grandfather! Mom's not breathing! Please! Please, somebody help her!  
  
His grandparents hurried back into the room, and up to the bed. Nicholas followed more slowly. He didn't want to see his mother as she'd looked only a moment before. As he approached the bed, his grandmother pulled him to her, and hugged him tightly. Only at this point, did Nick give in to the maelstrom of tears that had been building inside him. He clung to his grandmother as he sobbed. While his grandfather, with tears coursing down his own face, placed his arms protectively around his wife and only grandchild.  
  
----+----  
  
Nick and his grandparents sat in the lobby of the hospice. Charles had called Burton after Anne had died, and now the three of them were waiting for his arrival. Nick's face was still tear-stained, but he had quit crying about ten minutes before. He was still sniffing, however, and his grandfather handed him his handkerchief.  
  
Burton Fallin came walking briskly in the door, wiping the snow from his hair and the sleeves of his overcoat. He was a tall, imposing man, dark-haired, but balding on top. He had a very impressive mustache that covered almost all the area between his nose and upper lip. It was the first thing that caught most people's eye.   
  
Burton appeared to be a man in his mid to late forties. He was quit fit for his age, a fact he took pride in. He was a classic example of the self-made man. His father had worked in one of the Pittsburgh steel mills. Burton had worked his way through college and law school, with the help of scholarships and part-time jobs. He had a real knack for the law, and had been very successful from early on. About eleven years ago he had started his own firm, Fallin and Associates, and had been very successful with it, as well.  
  
He caught sight of his son and ex-in-laws, and started over to them. When he had gotten about halfway, Nick looked up, and saw his father coming towards them. He jumped out of his chair, and raced to his father. As he approached, Burton opened his arms to his son. Nick flew into his embrace, and Burton clasped the boy tightly to him. The two of them together made such a stark contrast. The tall, dark figure of the father, towering over his fair-haired son   
  
Burton said. I'm, uh, I'm sorry son.... I should have been here. I got held up. I'm sorry.  
  
Nick's tears had begun to flow again before he had even reached his father. He stood for a few moments wrapped tightly in his father's arms, absorbing the comfort of his embrace. But then other feelings, old, bad feelings, arose to replace the warmth and safety he had found there. He broke away from his father, and stepped back to look up into his eyes.   
  
It's your fault, he said in a tear-filled voice, as he looked accusingly up at Burton.  
  
Burton said in shocked surprise.  
  
It's your fault! You left, and she got sick, and, and now she's dead! My mother's dead, and it's all your fault!  
  
Burton said, again, and tried to reach out for the boy, but Nick turned and ran back to his grandmother, who took him into her arms.  
  
Burton stood rooted to the floor for a minute, shaken by his son's accusations, and then came forward to the little group. he began, your mother--, but Margaret gave him a not now look, and shook her head. So he feel silent. Burton looked down at the floor, frowned, and listened to his son pour out his grief in tears. He had never felt so helpless in all his life.  
  
----+----  
  
Burton Aloysius Fallin had met Anne Remington Wentworth at a charity ball to benefit the Pittsburgh Museum of Art. He had first spotted her as he was walking across the ballroom. She immediately caught his eye. She was beautiful. Tall and slim, with lovely brown hair. Her hair was up that night, but later he would learn it was long and luxuriant. She had a graceful, elegant neck, that was perfectly set off by her strapless, blue satin gown. Her face was oval, with a slightly aquiline nose, and warm brown eyes. She had captured his attention from the first moment, but it was when she smiled that his heart almost stopped. Her smile lit up her whole face. It was as if someone had suddenly flipped on a light in a dark room. He was captivated.  
  
Burton kept his eye on Anne as he continued to circulate among the guests. When he at last saw her alone, he made a beeline to her side, and introduced himself. They made small talk for a little while--he discovered she was a docent at the museum--and then he asked her to dance.   
  
Burton was a good dancer. When he had decided to pursue corporate law he knew that he would be coming into contact with many wealthy, privileged people. He also knew the value of , and was determined not to stick out like a sore thumb when he mixed socially with his clients. Therefore, although no one knew it, he had taken classes to improve his social graces. This included instruction in ballroom dance. There had never been a lot of opportunity growing up in a working class steel town as he had, to perfect your dancing skills. Oh, he had learned the basic box step, like most young men his age, but he'd always felt awkward about it. In the class, he learned to actually enjoy dancing, and now was perfectly at home on the dance floor.   
  
Anne was just as taken with Burton, as he with her. They began dating, and less than six months later announced their engagement. Anne's family was doubtful at first. They liked Burton, and Mr. Wentworth, especially, was impressed by how Burton had risen so far above the circumstances of his birth. He approved of any man that had pulled himself up by his own boot straps. After all, it was part of the American tradition!   
  
Mr. Wentworth had also done some discreet checking, and found that Burton was exactly what he presented himself to be: a smart, young, lawyer; a man on his way up. What concerned both Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth, however, was the difference in the two young people's backgrounds. The Wentworths were wealthy. Not members of the ultra rich, by any means, but comfortable, old money. Anne had been raised in an environment where nothing had been denied her. That was not to say her desires had been extravagant, by any means, but if there was something she wanted, it was generally given to her. Burton's father had been a steel worker in a non-union plant who barely made enough money to keep his family afloat. The Wentworths were concerned that these differences might cause problems further down the line for the young couple.  
  
Burton and Anne were married almost a year to the day they had met. They were very happy. They had discussed having children, but were not in any hurry to start a family. They were still getting to know each other, still taking joy in simply being together. There seemed to be so many years ahead for everything else.   
  
When they did start trying to have a child, there were difficulties. Ann suffered two miscarriages in a row. The first was an early miscarriage, within the 5th or 6th week, but the second didn't occur until nearly the 4th month. Anne was heartbroken at both, but she had been especially crushed by the second miscarriage. She had thought she had been past the danger point, and then the pains had started...  
  
When she got pregnant for the third time, the doctor had immediately restricted all her activities, and then ordered complete bed rest for the last three months of her confinement. With that precaution she was able to bring the baby almost to full term. He came only three weeks early. It was a difficult delivery for Anne, but the end result was a healthy baby boy.   
  
They named him Nicholas David Fallin. had been the easy part. They both liked that name very much. There had been some difficulty in choosing the middle name, however. Anne wanted to use her maiden name, following the tradition of her family. But Burton thought Nicholas Wentworth Fallin sounded too stuffy, too highfalutin', as his mother would say. The problem was neatly solved when they discovered that they each had a grandfather named . So it was. Burton was pleased with the boy's name. He thought it had a good, steady, rock-solid sound to it.  
  
Nicholas David Fallin was a lovely baby, although a little thin and on the small side, due to his prematurity. He had very blue eyes, and his head was covered with a fuzz of white-blonde hair. It was clear from the start he was going to be a tow-headed child.  
  
After two miscarriages and the difficult pregnancy and labor, the doctor advised Anne that she shouldn't try to have any more children. Anne and Burton were disappointed, especially Anne, but they decided to abide by the doctor's advise. So Nicholas would be an only child.  
  
----+----  
  
It was the evening of the day that Anne died. Burton, Charles, and Anne's sister Elizabeth were sitting in the dining room of Anne and Nick's house, sipping coffee. Conversation with the Wentworths had been stilted at first. Burton hadn't seen them since before the divorce, and naturally they had taken Anne's side in that. He knew they blamed him for the breakup of the marriage, and to be fair, he was the one who had asked Anne for a divorce, not the other way around. But, thankfully, the conversation had gradually become easier and more natural.  
  
Margaret walked into the room, and sighed. Well, he's asleep. Poor child, he was simply exhausted.  
  
Elizabeth interjected, Mother, may I get you a cup of coffee?  
  
That would be lovely, Dear, thank you. Elizabeth left for the kitchen.  
  
Margaret took a seat opposite Burton. She gave him a sympathetic look, and then began to speak, Burton, about what Nicholas said to you today. She paused before continuing. He didn't really mean it, you know. I think he was just, just in pain, and needing to strike out at something, anything to relieve those feelings. She smiled apologetically. You were a convenient target, I'm afraid. He doesn't really believe that you caused Anne's death. Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke her daughter's name, and she lowered her head for a moment. He's old enough to know that the cancer wasn't anyone's fault. We talked about it, and he's very sorry he said those things to you.  
  
Burton smiled at his ex-mother-in-law in grateful appreciation. He surmised, that she, especially, must harbor ill-will against him over the divorce. Anne had always been very close to her mother. So for Margaret to intercede with Nicholas on his behalf like this, for her to attempt to patch up the rift between father and son, spoke volumes for the kind of woman she was.  
  
Elizabeth had returned with the coffee pot, and refilled all their cups. The four adults resumed the conversation that had been in progress before Margaret's return. A necessary, but unpleasant one, concerning funeral plans, and all the other innumerable items that must be dealt with after someone dies.  
  
----+----  
  
The cemetery was a sea of white. The sky was overcast, and there was a cold wind blowing. But at least the snow had stopped. A large group of people huddled together for warmth around the single blot on the landscape. The earth of the freshly dug grave stood out like an open wound. Nicholas stood between his father and his grandparents. His grandmother was holding his gloved hand in hers. It was obvious from looking at their faces that Margaret and Nick had spent a large part of the morning crying. And now they both wept silently, as the minister finished speaking. His grandfather touched his shoulder, and Nick stepped forward, the wind stirring his blonde hair, and placed a single red rose atop his mother's casket. He was followed, in turn, by his grandmother, grandfather, and aunt, who each added their own rose to lay alongside his. Burton looked on in silence during this ritual for the family members.  
  
Afterward, the minister led the assemblage in a concluding prayer, and the crowd began to disperse. Finally, only Burton, Nick, and the three Wentworths were left standing by the graveside. They stood there silently, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Burton had decided it would be best to wait for one of the Wentworths to make the first move away from the grave, but they all seemed to be lost in their grief. Finally, after what he considered to be more than an appropriate amount of time, he decided he and Nick, at least, should go.   
  
Come on son. It's cold out here. Let's get back to the house.  
  
Nick, his face still tear-stained, gave his father a mildly rebellious look, but acquiesced. As the two of them began to walk back toward the waiting cars, the three Wentworths followed suit.  
  
----+----  
  
There was a large crowd of mourners back at the house. Anne had been very active prior to the divorce and her illness. She had been a member on the boards of several local charities. She had been president of the PTA, and had led or participated in many of the fund-raising activities at Nick's school. She had always been a whirlwind of activity, and she had many friends. The Wentworths, being an old, established family, also had more than their share of friends and acquaintances, and several of them had made the trip from the eastern part of the state to attend the funeral. The house was large, however, so there was no problem accommodating the crowds  
  
Burton had seen many people today that he hadn't seen since before the divorce. There was often an awkward silence after they had greeted him, as people sought for the right words to say - how **do** you express your condolences to the ex-husband?   
  
He had been pretty steadily surrounded by people up until this point, but now he was actually on his own. He decided to seek out Nicholas, and see how his son was faring.  
  
He found Nick sitting on the steps that led to the second floor, elbows on his knees, head resting in his hands. He was wearing a black suit with white shirt and tie. His grandmother had taken him shopping for it the day after Anne had died. His hair was in disarray. Burton knew that Nick's grandmother had done her best to tame it into submission, but since it was curly, a stray lock always seemed to escape here and there. He gets that from my mother, he thought (none of the Wentworths had curly hair), Her hair was always a mass of unruly curls.  
  
Burton said. How ya doing, son?  
  
Nick looked up at his father briefly, then back down at the carpeted stairs. Although Burton had only gotten a quick glimpse of his son's face, he could tell it was still streaked with tears. Poor kid, he thought, He's going to get dehydrated if he keeps this up.  
  
Burton grabbed the banister, and lowered himself down onto the steps next to his son. He searched for something to say.   
  
Did you, uh, get something to eat? he finally asked. Nick didn't answer or look up. So Burton tried again,   
  
I wasn't hungry, Nick replied, head still bowed.  
  
You've got to eat, Nick. Uhm, you know, keep up your strength, and all that. The words sounded awkward even to Burton.  
  
I'm okay, Nick said sadly.  
  
They sat in silence for a few more minutes, and then Burton, finding nothing else to say to his son, got up and walked back into the crowd of adults.  
  
----+----  
  
It was about 9:00 the next morning, and Charles, Margaret, and Elizabeth were getting ready to travel back to Philadelphia. The elder Wentworths had actually been staying in the house for the last month. They had come to be with their daughter when they knew Anne's time was growing short. Elizabeth had only arrived in the last few days before Anne's death. She deeply regretted that she hadn't been with her sister when she died, but she had been running an errand for her parents at the time.  
  
The weather had cleared, and the sun was shining brightly. Burton, Nick, and the Wentworths stood outside the house saying their goodbyes. Charles had hired a car to drive them back to Philadelphia. Margaret did not like to fly, so they took alternate forms of transportation whenever practical. As the driver loaded the last of their luggage into the limo, Nick exchanged hugs with his aunt and grandparents. He hugged his grandmother last, and seemed reluctant to let go. His tears flowed afresh. He had really come to depend on his grandmother's comforting, maternal presence in these last several weeks, and the thought of her leaving left him desolate. When Margaret would have broken their embrace, Nick still clung to her, so she squeezed him again, and then said his name to get his attention.   
  
Nicholas. We love you, honey. You know that, don't you?  
  
Nick turned his face up to his grandmother, and gave a nod.  
  
And if there's anything you ever need.... If there's anything we can ever do.... Well, all you have to do is call us. All right?  
  
Nick nodded again. His grandmother gave him one more warm squeeze, and then stepped away, her eyes brimming with tears. This time Nick let her go. His grandfather had already given him a brief hug, but now he stretched out his hand, and Nick took it, shaking it firmly.  
  
That's my boy, said Charles, Always give a man a firm handshake, Nicholas. It shows you're steadfast, a man of your word.  
  
With that, the three Wentworths climbed into the car, and the limo pulled slowly out of the driveway, and into the road. Nick and Burton stood and watched until the car was out of sight. Then they turned, and walked back into the house.  
  
As they came in the door, Burton realized that this was the first time he had been alone with his son since Anne died. The Wentworths had stayed at the house with Nick these last few days, while Burton had returned home to his townhouse each evening. He stole a glance at the boy, and saw he was still wiping away the tears he had shed over the parting from his grandparents.  
  
Burton exhaled a long breath. So much to do. He planned to move at least part of his belongings back into the house today. Anne's housekeeper, Mrs. Buehl, was due to show up at 9:30AM. Burton planned to leave Nick in her care. He had to get back to the office, and deal with all the things that he knew must have been piling up in the last several days.   
  
He looked at his son again, and said, Well, Nick, I've,ah, got to get ready to go to the office. Mrs. Buehl should be here in a little while, why don't you, uhm, why don't you find something to do until then. Okay? Nick nodded without really looking at his father, and headed up the stairs, presumably to his room.   
  
Mrs. Buehl arrived promptly at 9:30, and after a few hurried instructions, Burton left for the office.   
  
----+----  
  
Nick knew when his father left for work. He had heard the car pull out of the driveway. He was seated on his bed, idly twisting his Rubix Cube in his hands. His mother had given it to him for his last birthday. He had been very proud of himself (and better yet his mother had been very proud of him) when he had solved the puzzle on his own.   
  
He was thinking about his dad. He wondered what it would be like, living with his dad again. Living with his dad, without his mom. He didn't want to admit it, but it kind of scared him. He wasn't sure what to expect.   
  
He had been thinking a lot about his dad since his mom died (he hurried quickly past this thought before the tears started again). He had been trying to figure out how he felt, how he really felt, about his dad now. It was all so confusing, so muddled. But, he thought that if he tried long enough he could figure it out, like, like figuring out a difficult math problem.   
  
He was sure that before the divorce he had loved his dad. A kid's supposed to love his dad, right? When Dad had walked out on Mom, when he had made her so unhappy.... He, he had hated him them; he had hated his guts! Now, now he didn't know how he felt. It was all so hard to sort out. Sometimes when he thought about his dad he would remember the good things... Dad had taught him how to fish one time, had let him put the worm on the hook, and everything. He remembered how it squirmed! It had actually made him a little sad to see that, but he hadn't wanted Dad to know. And there was the day Dad had taught him to ride his first two-wheeler, without the training wheels. That was a great day! He'd only fallen once. Dad had said he was a real pro. He remembered, that's what he'd said, a real pro!  
  
But most of the time when he thought about his dad, he remembered the bad things... Dad yelling at Mom - just the thought made him cringe. He'd hated it when they fought. It had always frightened him (of course, he'd only been a kid then). And he could probably count on one hand the number of baseball games and school programs his dad had attended. Even if he tried, he bet he could never count up all the times he'd heard his mom say, Daddy's going to try really hard to make it this time, honey. He really is.   
  
Nick let out a long sigh, and frowned. It was true - mostly what he remembered about his dad was him **not** being there. He always seemed to be at work. So, in a lot of ways, it had just been his mother and him long before his parents divorced.   
  
After the divorce.... He thought about what it had been like those first few months. His mom had been so unhappy. He didn't know if he could **ever** forgive his father for that. She had cried a lot. She tried to do it when he wasn't around, but he had still been able to tell. Her eyes and nose would be all red. He had only been ten, but he had been old enough to know that. It had made him feel so sad and lost inside when she'd cried. He had tried. He had really tried to make her happy again. And sometimes he could...for a little while, but it had never lasted for long.   
  
And then.... And then she'd gotten sick. She hadn't told him at first, didn't want him to know. But after a while she couldn't hide it anymore. He remembered that night that Mom had finally told him that she was sick, that she had **cancer**. He got a shiver just thinking about it. **cancer**--it had been such a big, scary word. He'd known that from watching TV. People that got cancer on TV died. He'd eventually worked up the courage to ask his mom if she was going to die, and she'd said No, of course not. But the way she said it he'd thought she might not be telling the truth. Sometimes adults lied. He knew they did. They were always telling kids not to, but they did it themselves all the time.   
  
He started thinking about that last day at the hospice. His mom...dying. And then what he had said to Dad. He hung his head. He was ashamed of that. He knew he should apologize. It wasn't Dad's fault. It was the cancer. He didn't know why he had said what he did. Mom would be upset with him if she knew how he had yelled at Dad. She'd always insisted he be polite to everyone.  
  
All this thinking about his mother had made him cry again. He hated that. His dad probably already thought he was a crybaby after all the crying he had done in the last few days. After all, he was twelve now, not a baby anymore. He'd have to try to watch it from now on, at least not let himself cry in front of Dad. He bet his dad never cried when he was twelve! He didn't know if his dad had ever cried.  
  
----+----  
  
When Burton pulled back into the driveway of the house it was after 7:00PM. He felt a little guilty that he hadn't made it home before this on his first evening with Nick, but it couldn't be helped. It had been a very full day. There had just been too many things that needed his attention. He also knew that he had kept Mrs. Buehl longer than he had said, and hoped the woman wouldn't be difficult about it.  
  
He walked into the house, and found Mrs. Buehl with the receiver of the phone in her hand. Oh, Mr. Fallin, she said, Good. I was just about to try to call you. I really must be going. Your dinner is ready, but I left it in the oven to keep warm. You shouldn't have any trouble. I'm sorry to be in such a rush, but you see, I have plans for this evening.  
  
No, no, my fault, really. Know I told you I'd be here by 6:30. Just couldn't get away. He lowed his head slightly, and ran his thumb and index finger across his moustache. Then he looked at back at her, as he asked, How, uh, how did Nick do today?  
  
Mrs. Buehl answered him while putting on her coat, Well, he spent most of the day in his room. I'm afraid he barely touched his lunch. I guess he must not have much of an appetite yet, poor little lamb. He's such a sweet boy.... Well, I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Fallin. And, she left.   
  
Burton took a look in the oven, and saw Mrs. Buehl had made a beef roast with potatoes. He grabbed the hot pads that were sitting on the counter, pulled the pan out, and set it on the stove. Then he walked upstairs to find Nick.  
  
Nick's bedroom door was closed. Burton knocked, and then went in. Nick was lying on his bed, with a book in his hand. Somehow, though, Burton got the impression that he hadn't really been reading it.   
  
Hi, son. Dinner's ready. You,uhm, want to wash up and come on down?  
  
Nick nodded, and got off the bed.  
  
----+----  
  
Burton and Nick sat across the dinner table from each other. Burton was just finishing his meal. Nick had eaten no more than half the food on his plate, and now was just moving the rest around with his fork. Burton had made a couple attempts at conversation, but they had all fallen flat.   
  
Finally, he said, Are you finished?  
  
Nick looked up at his father, and said, Yes, sir.   
  
Well take your dishes on into the kitchen then. Nick got out of the chair, gathered up his plate, silverware, and milk glass, and walked toward the kitchen.  
  
Burton got up and carried his dishes in, as well.   
  
Burton placed the dishes in the dishwasher, and then looked at his son. He tried to put a friendly smile on his face, as he said, What, uh, what do you usually do after dinner, son?  
  
Nick's face screwed up, and Burton could see the tears welling in his eyes. Nick said in a small voice, I'd, I'd usually visit with Mom until bedtime.  
  
Burton drew out slowly. I guess you would. He ran his right hand across the hair on the top of his head. Well...what would you like to do tonight?  
  
Nick's looked at his father without expression, and said quietly, I'd just like to go to my room, please.  
  
Burton attempted another small smile, and said, Well, okay then. Good night, son.   
  
Nick walked out of the kitchen, and Burton stared after him silently for a moment.   
  
----+----  
  
Burton switched off the downstairs lights, and climbed the stairs. He walked down the hallway, headed for one of the guest rooms. He would move into the master bedroom eventually, but all Anne's things must still be in there now. As he passed Nick's door he thought he heard sounds coming from inside. He paused, and listened. Now he could clearly hear racking sobs coming from inside the room. His heart fell. It hurt him to hear his son in so much pain. His hand reached instinctively for the door handle, but then stopped. What could he say to the boy? What could he really do to comfort him? So far, Nick had given every indication that he wanted nothing to do with him right now. Burton stood there for a minute, indecisive, then his hand fell back to his side, and he walked on down the hall.  
  
As he passed the master bedroom, it occurred to him that he had not yet been inside. He flipped on the light, and stood staring into the room. God, so many memories, so many of them from the later years, unpleasant ones. He and Anne had argued a lot in those last months before the divorce. Burton shook his head regretfully. He was ashamed to think of how many of those arguments Nick must have overheard. He let out a heavy sigh, his face twisting in a frown, and found himself thinking, Nick, what am I going to do about Nick?  
  
After a moment of silent reflection, he turned his attention back to the contents of the room. It was immediately apparent that it had been transformed into a sickroom. Anne had been bedridden for the last couple months of her life. She had required a full-time nurse during that time. He could see many things that had obviously been added to the room for the convenience of the invalid. He also noticed a small desk in the corner, where none had been before. He walked over for a closer look, and found it covered with Nick's school papers. He supposed that made sense, letting the boy be near his mother while he did his homework.  
  
----+----  
  
Burton sat up in bed, smoking a cigarette while he thought about his son. As usual, when his thoughts turned to Nick the number one thing he felt was guilt. This had been an almost Pavlovian response for a long time now. He knew he hadn't been much of a father to the boy since the divorce. The whole thing had been such an ugly affair. He knew, too, that the main reason he hadn't seen his son as often as he should have in those months was to avoid another nasty confrontation with Anne.   
  
The truth was he had been truly emotionally drained for the first several months after the break-up. He was ashamed to admit that by the time he had recovered from that he had gotten used to **not** seeing his son. God, he hated to acknowledge that fact, even to himself. But, he also knew it was true that he and his son had never formed as strong a bond as most fathers and sons. The easy answer was to blame it on the long hours he had worked for most of Nick's life. But, he knew there was more to it. It just seemed there was something inside himself when it came to parenthood. He didn't know why, but somehow things had just never between himself and his son. He certainly couldn't blame it on Nick. He knew it was his own failing. He loved his son. He was sure of that. But, still there was something, some sense of between the two of them that had always been there. Something that kept them from connecting like a normal father and son.  
  
Once he knew that Anne's condition was indeed terminal, he had given a lot of thought to how he was going to deal with raising his son on his own. The thought of being a single parent was not only frightening (he'd always left all the important decisions regarding Nick to Anne), but, God help him, inconvenient. He knew, if there was a God, he, Burton, should probably be struck down for that thought. But, if he was honest with himself, that was how he felt - his own son was an inconvenience. Christ!   
  
He had come up with a possible solution to the problem, but hadn't had the guts to decide to go through with it yet, let alone discuss it with Nick. Nick was twelve years old. There were many good prep schools that took children as young as twelve. He had done some research, and even gotten brochures from several of them. Nick was a very intelligent child, and could only benefit from receiving the kind of education these schools could provide. After all, look at all the successful people that had gone to prep schools - CEOs, academicians, politicians. It could only open doors for Nick in the long run. He, Burton, had just not been able to make up his mind yet as to whether he wanted to pursue this as an option for his son, or not.   
  
There was one thing he was sure of, however, in regards to Nick's future. One thing he had always promised himself. His son was never going to have to make his way through college on scholarships and part-time jobs, as he did. Going short on sleep to get in a little more studying before hurrying off to the next job. His son was never going to have to choose between paying the rent and buying the next week's groceries. His son was going to have the best Ivy League education that money could buy. He, Burton Fallin, would see to that.  
  
He was tired, and he was no closer to a decision about Nick's schooling than he had been when he laid down. He stubbed out his cigarette. Well, he'd just have to keep doing what he was doing now . Take it one day at a time. Play it by ear until he could make up his mind what to do.  
  
----+----  
  
A week had passed, and Burton had made up his mind. Things between himself and his son had not gotten any easier. They were still like two awkward strangers - living in the same house, but not living . He had thought things might get better when Nick started back to school. That getting back into a familiar routine might work a change in his son, but it hadn't. Nick still walked around the house like a silent ghost most of the time.   
  
Burton had come into the family room once, and actually caught his son laughing at something on TV. It was the first truly happy look he had seen on his son's face since his mother had died. It touched him, and he had felt an answering smile creasing his own lips, but then Nick had looked up. The moment he saw Burton he had gone still; the joy disappearing from his face. Burton couldn't understand it. He had tried in every way he knew to be kind to his son. He had tried to reach out to him in these days, break through that shell of reserve that he wore, but he had failed. Christ! Sometimes he thought the boy was actually afraid of him. His own son...afraid of him!  
  
So, he had made up his mind. Nick would attend prep school. Now came the hard part. Telling the boy. He had decided to do it first thing after dinner this evening. He had worked out how he would present it to his son -- what a wonderful opportunity it was for him, and so forth. He had no idea, frankly, what reaction to expect from Nicholas.  
  
Now the time was here. He and Nick had just carried their plates into the kitchen, and loaded them in to the dishwasher. It had become a ritual, and one of the few things they actually did together.  
  
Burton thought to himself.  
  
Nick, why don't you come into the study? There's, uhm, there's something I want to talk to you about.  
  
Nick looked questioningly at his father, but said,   
  
When they reached the study, Burton pulled a chair up to the front of his desk for Nick, and then took his own seat behind the desk. He looked at his son intently for a long moment, and he could feel his own heart rate begin to increase. He knew this was going to be hard. Nick just sat there impassively, watching his father, waiting for him to begin to speak. He knew it must be something serious. He could tell that by the look on his father's face.  
  
Burton took a breath, and finally began. You know, son, a good education is one of the most important things a man can have. You know that, don't you?  
  
Nick nodded.  
  
A man can't get anywhere today without a good education, Nicholas. It lays the foundation for everything he can achieve in life. Why, uh, just look at me. Do you think I'd be where I am now if I hadn't done everything I could to get myself a decent education?   
  
He paused, and looked at his son inquiringly.  
  
Nick didn't really know how to reply to this, so he just said nothing.  
  
You're...you're my son, Nicholas, and because of where I am today I, uhm, I can give you some of the advantages that I never had as a child. Burton paused, and cleared his throat. He ran a hand across the top of his head. Nice clothes, a nice place to live, nice toys. All those things, son, but the most important thing I can give you is a good education.  
  
Burton paused, looked down, and then up again, and said, Do you know what a prep school is Nicholas?  
  
Nick thought about it for a second. It sort of sounded familiar, but he didn't think he really knew what it was. he said, I don't think so.  
  
Well, uh, a prep school (it's really short for preparatory school) is a place where young people, people your age, go to, uhm, prepare themselves for college. He stroked his fingers over his moustache. It's a private school for boys from backgrounds like yours. Boys that will make something of themselves in the world. They have only the best instructors, and they teach courses that you would never get in your current school -- things like Latin, and lots of other useful things.   
  
Burton paused to see how Nick was taking all this. His son looked apprehensive, but didn't say anything. So he continued. What I am saying, Nicholas, is that I've decided that you should attend prep school. I think it will be for the best. All, uh, all around.  
  
This finally moved Nick to say something. He leaned forward in the chair, and asked apprehensively,   
  
Burton answered, Well, as soon as possible, son. They're not too far into the current term so you won't really have missed much. I, I want to get you started right away.  
  
Now Nick looked a little frightened, and Burton could see his eyes were wet. Where, where is this school? Nick asked.  
  
Well, that's the thing son. We have to pick one. I've talked to several different schools, and I've narrowed it down to these three.   
  
Burton picked up some pamphlets from the desktop. I thought you could look over these brochures, and then you could pick where you'd like to go. He smiled at Nick, and briefly put his hand to his face. You'll see, son. They have lots of fun things to do; it's not just all hitting the books. They have horses, swimming, tennis courts. Lots, uhm, lots of things for you to do in your spare time. You'll see. You'll enjoy it. And you'll be around other boys your own age; boys with similar interests to yours.  
  
He extended the brochures to Nick who took them hesitantly. He took a quick glance at the front of each pamphlets. Each one gave the name of the school, and the town and state where it was located. Only one of them was in Pennsylvania, and it was in a town he had never heard of.  
  
He looked up at his father, and, despite himself, could not keep a tear or two from sliding down his cheek. You, you mean I'd be going away to school? Living there, like, like people do for college? I-I-I wouldn't be living here anymore? His voice trembled on the last question.  
  
That's right son. Burton smiled at him encouragingly. It, uhm, it would kind of be like an adventure, don't you think? New people, new places. Of course, you'd come back here during the holidays and for summer vacation....   
  
Burton trailed off as he saw Nick was about to completely dissolve into tears. He stood up. Well, son, why don't you take those brochures with you, and look them over? You can let me know tomorrow which one you like. All right?  
  
Nick seemed to be struck dumb by the sudden realization of what his father was saying - he was sending him **away**. But he got up when his father did, and without a word, turned, and fled the room. When he reached the stairs he broke into a run. He was determined to reach his bedroom before he started crying in earnest. He flew into his room, and threw himself face down on the bed. Just as he did the dam burst, and he was swept away in a torrent of tears.  
  
As he lay there sobbing, he kept repeating the same thing over and over to himself silently: My dad wants to send me away. He doesn't want me. He doesn't want me! Over and over these words played out in his head. He thought his heart might break.  
  
When the first crest of flood waters had receded, he sat up. His hair was tousled, and his eyes were red from crying. He wiped at his face, and grabbed a kleenex to blow his nose. It took two to do the job properly. He didn't like to . His mother had always hated that, so he tried not to do it for her sake.  
  
He had calmed down considerably, but was still drawing ragged grasps of breath as people do after a crying jag when he reached over to the bedside table, and turned on the lamp. He wiped at his eyes once more, and picked up the hated brochures from where they had fallen on the bed. He looked at them again. One was in Pennsylvania, one was in New York, and the other one was in Vermont.   
  
As he stared down at the pamphlets, his unhappiness was gradually pushed aside by anger. If his father didn't want to be with him, then he didn't want to be with his father!! He would just go to one of these crummy, old schools! Suddenly he had an inspiration. He decided right then, without even looking at any of the other information in the brochures, that he would pick the school in Vermont. It was the farthest away. That'll show him, he thought. If his dad wanted to send him away, then he'd go as far away as possible. See how Dad liked that! Feeling more in control after this planned act of defiance, he headed into the bathroom to get ready for bed.  
  
----+----  
  
When Burton walked into the dining room the next morning, Nick was already sitting there eating his cereal. He didn't look up when his father entered, so Burton couldn't tell what mood the boy was in. He had known about the crying jag last night, of course, had felt bad about it. But it hadn't weakened his resolve.   
  
He fixed himself a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal, and sat down across from his son.  
  
As his father took his seat, Nick looked up at him with a blank expression, and said in a flat voice, I picked a school.  
  
Well that's great son, Burton said with a smile. Which one did you pick?  
  
The one in Vermont.  
  
Burton looked a little surprised. He'd expected the boy to pick one closer to home.   
  
Ohhh...the one in Vermont -- Hamilton Academy, yeah. Hmmm, well...well, that's a good school son, but are you, uh, are you sure that's the one you want?   
  
Nick nodded his head, as Burton continued, It's pretty far away, you know. You, uhm, wouldn't be able to get back home for weekends, or anything like that.  
  
Nick didn't say a word.   
  
You're sure that's the school you want? Burton asked again.  
  
Nick looked up at his father with a defiant light in his eye, and answered firmly, Yes, I'm sure.  
  
Well, okay then. Burton tried to put some enthusiasm into his voice. Hamilton Academy it is. I'll call them today, and start making the arrangements.  
  
Nick had returned his attention to his cereal bowl.  
  
Burton stared down at the top of his son's bent head for a moment. Now that the matter was settled he felt...something...he couldn't quite identify, a curious kind of let-down feeling. Kind of like unwrapping a present, sure that you know what's inside, only to find you got something entirely different than you expected -- something you're not even sure you want. Huhh.  



	2. Chapter Two

**Title:** Motherless Boy (2/2)  
**Date Written:** 2/06/02  
**Author: **JanetD  
**Rating:** G   
**Summary:** This story describes the death of Nick's mom, and why/how Burton sends Nick to boarding school.  
**Author's Notes:** All I know about prep schools is what I've seen on TV and in the movies, so please pardon me if I've gone amiss anywhere.   
**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fiction. The characters in this story are borrowed from the TV show "The Guardian". No money is being made from this story. Any resemblance of a character in this story to any real person living or dead is purely coincidental. Likewise, any resemblance between an organization depicted in this story and any such actual organization is purely coincidental.  
  
Nick Fallin, 12, laid in bed contemplating the latest life-altering event in his life. It had been three days since his father, Burton, had dropped the bombshell that he was to attend boarding school. Nick still felt shell-shocked. His mother had died only two weeks before, and now his father was sending him away to prep school in Vermont. His dad already had all the arrangements made. They would be flying up to the school on Sunday. Mrs. Buehl, the housekeeper, had taken him shopping just that afternoon for some new clothes - mostly socks and underwear (underwear - how embarrassing!). But also some new shoes and new casual clothes for the weekends. His father had said that they would buy his school uniforms once they got to the Middlebury.   
  
Nick shook his curly, blonde head slowly, and frowned, as he faced the prospect of the new school and being away from home. This house had always been his home. In the beginning, it had been one they all shared -- his father, mother, and him. Then after the divorce, it became home to just his mother and him. Now Mom was dead, and Dad was sending him away. He turned his mind quickly away from that thought. He'd done enough crying to last him a lifetime in the last two weeks. He didn't want to cry now. What he wanted to do was think logically about the problem, see if there wasn't some way out of this fate that seemed to be bearing down on him like a locomotive.  
  
Suddenly, Nick recalled the words his grandmother had said to him the morning after his mother's funeral. They had been standing outside saying their goodbyes, as Grandmother, Grandfather, and Aunt Liz prepared for their return trip to Philadelphia. When she had hugged him goodbye, Grandmother had said that if he ever needed anything, anything at all, all he had to do was call. He wondered if that might be a way out of this. Maybe, if he called Grandmother and told her that Dad was sending him away to school, maybe she and Grandfather could talk him out of it.   
  
Nick let out a long sigh. He didn't suppose there was much hope there though. Once his dad made up his mind about something, he hardly ever changed it. Nick had learned that a long time ago. Of course, maybe if his grandparents couldn't talk Dad out of sending him away, maybe there was another way. Maybe he could go live with them. He mulled that over in his mind for a few minutes. After all, it was clear his father didn't want him. He frowned angrily for a few seconds, but then returned to his previous train of thought. Living with his grandparents...it would still be leaving home, leaving his friends, leaving everything that was familiar to him, but it would probably be better that going off to some strange school to live among people he'd never met. He loved his grandparents, and knew they loved him. It would probably be all right.  
  
Nick made up his mind. He'd call his grandparents after school tomorrow, before Dad got home. Dad...Dad, would not be pleased with him going behind his back to seek an out with his grandparents. He'd probably be angry. Of course, a guy had the right to speak to his grandparents once in a while, didn't he? He'd just call them to say hi'. He wouldn't mention the school right away. He'd let Grandmother ask him how things were going. Then he'd **have** to tell her about the school and everything, wouldn't he? Pleased that he'd worked out a viable plan, Nick rolled over in bed, and went to sleep.  
  
----+----  
  
Nick was in his mother's bedroom. He'd headed upstairs right after he'd gotten home, determined to make the phone call to his grandparents before he lost his nerve. He stared at the phone while making a silent promise to himself to maintain his self-control during the call -- to **not** cry. Finally, he picked up the receiver, and dialed his grandparents' number. His grandmother answered after the third ring.  
  
she said.  
  
Grandmother, this is Nick.  
  
Why, Nicky, honey. It's good to hear from you. How are you?  
  
Nick's pledge to himself flew out the window as he heard his grandmother's warm, familiar voice, and the tears started to come.  
  
Grandmother, I, I.... he said in a broken voice.  
  
Why, Nick, what is it? What's wrong? Margaret Wentworth's voice was full of concern at the unhappiness she heard in her grandson's voice.  
  
Nick burst into tears at this point, and had to struggle to get the rest of the words out. Dad, Dad is sending me away...a-away to school in Vermont.  
  
Margaret wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly. Nick, now just try to calm down, honey. Take a deep breath.... That's it. Now tell me again. Your father is sending you where?  
  
He's sending me to prep school in Vermont. He says that's the best thing.  
  
When? When is he sending you to school? Margaret asked quickly.  
  
We leave on Sunday. He says, he says, I should get started right away. Nick had control of himself now, and was able to reply fairly calmly.  
  
His Grandmother did not answer for a moment. Angry words had been on the verge of passing her lips, but she had stopped them in time. It did no good to denigrate his father to Nick. When she spoke her voice was calm.  
  
You don't want to go, is that right, Nick?  
  
No, I don't. I'll hate it there. I-I know I will, Nick answered with feeling.  
  
Well, honey, let me talk to your Grandfather. Maybe there's something we can do. You just, just hang tight, okay? Try not to worry.   
  
Okay, Grandmother. Thank you. Good-goodbye.  
  
Goodbye, honey.  
  
As Nick hung up the phone a feeling of relief passed through his slight frame. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe his grandparents could talk Dad out of sending him away. He headed back to his room to wait out the hours until dinner.  
  
----+----  
  
Burton Fallin stared across the dinner table at his son. As usual, Nick had had very little to say. In the last few days, Burton had pretty much given up attempts to pry any conversation from his boy. True, since his mother's death, it had always yielded slim results, but ever since he had told Nick about prep school, his success rate had dropped to almost zero. His son's silences had become almost sullen at times. It was really beginning to wear on Burton's nerves. He found himself guiltily looking forward to Nick's starting school and his own life returning to normal. Well, it would only be a few more days now.  
  
----+----  
  
Burton was at his desk later that evening when the phone rang. It was about 8:30, and he had been deep in study of the papers for the Lawton case when his concentration was abruptly disrupted by the ringing of the phone.  
  
Nick, in his bedroom, heard the phone ring, as well. He crept stealthily down the stairs, and over to the door of his father's study. He was hoping it was his Grandmother, and he was anxious to hear as much of the conversation as he could.  
  
Burton answered the phone. he said.  
  
Burton, this is Margaret. How are you?  
  
Fine, fine, Margaret, Burton replied, with surprise showing in his voice. Thank you. How, uh, how are you and Charles?  
  
Very well, thank you, Burton.  
  
Well, that's good to hear.... Did you want to speak to Nick? He's upstairs, but I could get him for you.  
  
Actually, I talked to Nicholas this afternoon. That's why I'm calling now.... He told me about the school in Vermont. He didn't sound very happy about the idea, Burton.  
  
Well, no, I guess he's not, Burton replied, somewhat chagrined. But, I think it's for the best, Margaret, and Nick's a bright boy. I'm sure he'll adapt in no time.  
  
But, Burton, to send him away so soon? Anne...Anne has only been gone two weeks. The poor boy hasn't yet had time to recover from that shock, and now you're shipping him off to live among a group of strangers?  
  
Burton felt his temper rising, but sought to control it. Margaret, I know you're just concerned about Nick's welfare, but he's my son, and I have to decide what's best for him. Nick needs structure. I can't give that to him...working the hours I do. Hamilton Academy is an excellent school. They'll provide him with the kind of environment he needs to grow and excel.  
  
But, Burton, Margaret persisted. He's only a child, barely twelve years old. Surely you should wait till he's fourteen to send him away to school. And to send him all the way to Vermont.... Her voice trailed off.  
  
Vermont was Nick's choice, Margaret. He could have picked a school here in-state, but he chose Hamilton Academy.   
  
Margaret did not answer right away, but when she did she spoke in her most persuasive tone. Why not consider sending Nick to live with us, Burton? There are plenty of good boys' schools right here in Philadelphia. His grandfather and I would love to have him.  
  
Burton grimaced, and let out an audible sigh. I appreciate the offer, Margaret, but I don't think that would work. You and Charles have only raised daughters. You have no idea what it would be like to have an active boy in the house. And Nick will be a teenager soon. That's when boys are most in need of firm boundaries and discipline. He paused. I'm sorry, I know you're only thinking of Nick, but the answer has to be   
  
Margaret coaxed, why not at least think about the idea for a little while? Maybe just leave Nick with us until he's fourteen. Then if you still feel there are advantages to him boarding out at a prep school, he could go then.  
  
No. No, I'm sorry Margaret. I've made up my mind about this. I'm sorry.  
  
Margaret sighed in defeat. Well, Burton, I'm disappointed to hear you say that. I think you're making a terrible mistake, and I sincerely hope you don't come to regret it.... You know, there are some things in life that can't be mended once they're broken.  
  
Burton was silent as he studied her last words. Yes, well...I have to do what I think is best.... Good night, Margaret.  
  
Good night, Burton.  
  
As Nick heard his father getting ready to hang up the phone, he headed quietly back to his room. Unhappiness dogged his steps. Even with hearing only one side of the conversation, it had been obvious that his father was not going to budge. He, Nick, was still headed for boarding school.  
  
Burton placed the receiver back in its cradle. He wore an unhappy expression as he stared off into space for a moment. Then drawing in a long breath, he headed upstairs to talk to Nicholas.  
  
Burton walked into his son's bedroom without knocking. Nick was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed. He looked up when his father entered. Burton gazed at his son a moment. He kept his voice level as he began. That was your grandmother on the phone. She told me about your call to her this afternoon. Nick looked at the bed clothes, and didn't say anything. Burton tried to sound encouraging, as he continued. Son, I know you're...apprehensive...about attending prep school, but trust me, it will be fine. You'll make friends in no time. You'll see.   
  
There was no sign of response from Nick. Burton paused, running his left hand across the top of his head, before continuing. The truth is Nicholas, I just can't give you the things you need the most right now. With the hours I work, I can't be here to provide the guidance a boy your age needs. I'm sorry, son, but I think this school is going to be the best thing for you.  
  
Nick still stared silently at the bed, and Burton found himself wishing, not for the first time, that his son would look him in the eye. Burton frowned, and stroked his mustache with one hand. He had considered not mentioning the next part of the phone conversation to Nick, but decided he would find out sooner, or later, and it was better he heard it from him.  
  
Your grandmother suggested that you come to live with them for a while, that you attend school there in Philadelphia. At these words, Nick looked up hopefully, even though he knew his father had already rejected the offer. But, I told her I didn't think that was a good idea. Your grandparents aren't young anymore, Nicholas. Their health is not the best. They really aren't in any kind of shape to take on the responsibility of a boy your age.  
  
As Nick's face fell, Burton found himself feeling badly for his son. He thought a moment, and then added, That's not to say you couldn't, uhm, spend some of the school holidays with your grandparents. Maybe you could go there for spring break. That's not that far away. What do you say? Would you like that?  
  
Nick nodded, but didn't speak.  
  
Burton spent another moment gazing at his son's bend head, before saying, Well...good night, son. He waited, but when Nick didn't reply, he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.  
  
Nick gazed out into space with a mutinous look, before forcefully throwing his upper body back onto the bed. He stared up at the ceiling with a helpless feeling of frustration and melancholy.  
  
----+----  
  
It was Saturday afternoon, and Nick was finishing up his packing. Mrs. Buehl had helped him pack the majority of his things yesterday. He was just adding the last few personal items now. He looked around his room to decide what he couldn't bear to leave behind. His father had told him he was not allowed to take everything and the kitchen sink'. Those were his words. And Nick knew he meant it, so he was trying to limit it to small things that meant a lot to him.   
  
He tossed his Rubix Cube in the bag. There was no question about leaving that behind. His mother had given it to him for his birthday. He threw in his favorite baseball too. Sometimes when he was thinking about things he liked to toss the ball back and forth, hand to hand. He saw another couple items on his dresser that he didn't want to be without, and added them too. Now came the hard part -- deciding what to do about his secret keepsake, the one nobody knew about. It was one of his mother's lace-edged handkerchiefs. His mother had had the habit of keeping a perfumed handkerchief in her handbag. Whenever she opened her purse, the sweet scent would waft out.   
  
The night that his mother had gone into the hospice, Nick had been searching the house for comfort, some kind of solace. He had wandered into his mother's room, and seen her perfume tray on the dresser. He had walked over, and picked up the one bottle that he knew was her favorite. He had often seen his mother spritz herself with this scent before heading out the door to one of her meetings. That evening he had sprayed a mist of the perfume into the air, and sniffed it appreciatively. It brought back so many wonderful memories of his mother -- Mom kissing him on his way out the door to the school bus.... Mom reaching down to hug him after he'd told her a funny joke.... Mom tucking him in and kissing him good night.... He smiled at the memories.  
  
Then he had remembered the handkerchiefs in the top middle drawer of his mother's dresser. He retrieved one, and sprayed it generously with the perfume. He replaced the perfume atomizer on his mother's tray, and then headed for his bedroom, the hanky hidden in his hand. From that evening on, it had become his secret treasure. Lying in bed at night, when his yearning for his mother became overwhelming, he would hold the delicate piece of fabric to his face, and smell his mother's scent. It had become his biggest comfort.  
  
Nick had gotten into the habit of keeping the handkerchief underneath his pillow. He just had to be sure to remember not to leave it there on Wednesday mornings when Mrs. Buehl washed his sheets. He had reapplied the perfume several times now to keep the scent strong. When his father had moved into the house, Nick had taken the perfume bottle off his mother's dresser, and hidden it in his room. He knew his father would get rid of his mother's things eventually, and he hadn't wanted to risk the loss of this special font of comfort.  
  
Now he was faced with a difficult decision -- whether to take the perfume and handkerchief to school with him. He knew if the other boys learned he kept his mother's handkerchief like this, he would be a source of ridicule. But, he also didn't want to give up the one thing that had become such a comfort to him in his bleakest hours. He finally decided he couldn't risk taking the perfume itself. If it was discovered he'd be tagged a sissy' for life. But, he would risk taking the hanky. It was small, and easy to hide among his own things. The problem was the smell. He didn't want his own clothes reeking of perfume, and he also wanted to preserve the scent on the handkerchief as long as possible. He finally decided he would get a ziploc bag from the kitchen. If he kept the handkerchief in there, it would protect his clothes, and make the scent last longer. Pleased with this compromise he set the handkerchief aside, and turned his attention to the problem of where to hide the perfume bottle. He didn't want his father or Mrs. Buehl to find it. He considered and discarded several options, and finally decided to leave it where it was now -- hidden up in his closet in a shoe box. He didn't think either his father or Mrs. Buehl were too likely to be going through the shelves in his closet.  
  
He ran down to the kitchen for the ziploc bag. Returning to his room, he put the hanky in the bag, and then carefully placed it in his suitcase between a pile of underwear. Satisfied, he closed up the suitcase, and surveyed the two bags full of his belongings. He sighed at the inevitability of it all, and walked out of the room to go watch some TV.  
  
----+----  
  
Nick and Burton were in a rental car, headed for Middlebury, Vt. They had flown into Burlington that morning, and it was about a 45 minute drive to Middlebury where Hamilton Academy was located. Burton glanced over at his son. Nick was staring silently out the window. The landscape was pretty stark at present, with the trees bare of their leaves, but it was obvious that in any other season it would have been beautiful, lots of tree-covered rolling hills, with mountains in the distance.   
  
Nick had been silent the whole morning. Even the take-off from Pittsburgh had elicited no comment from him, and it could only be the third or fourth time the boy had ever flown. Burton thought to himself, at least there've been no tears today either.  
  
As they pulled into Middlebury it was obvious that this was a very old town, built around a piece of Common ground, as were many in New England. The buildings that lined the streets of the downtown were all very well maintained, and many were classic examples of the architecture of the region.  
  
Burton pulled the car into a spot close to Whitman's Fine Apparel. The school had informed him that this would be the place to get Nick's uniforms. Father and son entered the store, and in no time, Nick was fitted out in the gray trousers, blue blazer, white shirt and red and gold striped tie that made up the Hamilton uniform. He stared at himself in the mirror disconsolately. Stupid uniform, he found himself thinking. He'd never had to wear a uniform at his old school.  
  
Placing the bundle of new clothes in the sedan, Burton hailed Nick, who had been walking with slow footsteps back to the car, Come on son. Let's go.  
  
They drove the mile and a half out of town to the school. It was an impressive three-story brick building, situated on a large piece of partially-wooded ground. As they came up the long drive, several outbuildings and a stable were in view. Horses could be seen grazing in a pasture in the distance. Nick cheered up just a little at the sight of the horses. He had always had a passion for the large, magnificent creatures. The prospect of riding was one of the only bright spots on an otherwise dark horizon. The school was surrounded by a large, well-cared-for, lawn. It was a nice day for January, and several boys could be seen engaged in a game of tag football.  
  
His father pulled the car up to the front of the building, and they got out. Right inside the main entrance to the building they found a reception desk. The receptionist greeted them pleasantly, and Burton said, Hello. I'm Burton Fallin and this is my son Nick. We're here to enroll Nicholas for the current semester. The receptionist smiled as she said, Well, welcome to Hamilton Academy. I'll just let the headmaster Mr. Whitington know you've arrived.  
  
In just a few minutes, Mr. Whitington came down the stairs. He was a tall, dark-haired man in his middle forties. He stuck out his hand to Burton, as he said enthusiastically, Mr. Fallin, very good to meet you. The two men shook hands. Mr. Whitington next offered his hand to Nick, and said, And this must be Nicholas! Welcome young man. I think you're really going to enjoy your time here. We have a very good group of young people here at Hamilton. Nick shook his hand, but didn't say anything.  
  
Mr. Whitington continued, Well, Mr. Fallin, we received Nicholas' transcripts, and everything seems to be in order. If you like, I'll give you and Nick a brief tour of the school, and then show you up to his room.  
  
Burton smiled, and placed his hand on Nick's shoulder, as he said, Thank you, Mr. Whitington. We'd like that.  
  
Mr. Whitington walked them around the school building, pointing out various classrooms, the gym, the dining room, and anything else of interest they passed. Then he took them outside, and pointed out a few things around the grounds.  
  
Returning inside he led them over to the boys' dormitory. Nick's room turned out to be on the third floor. It was a double room, and he could see his roommate's side was covered with his possessions. The room was a comfortable size for two boys, with two twin beds, two chests of drawers, two desks, and two closets. While they had been touring the school, Mr. Whitington had had Nick's suitcases and new uniforms brought up to the room. The bundle of uniforms sat on the bed, while the suitcases were on the floor nearby.   
  
As he realized Mr. Whitington was speaking, Nick turned his attention back to the headmaster.  
  
Your roommate is a boy named Michael Fulton, Nicholas. He's in your year, so should be able to show you the ropes. I suppose he's outside right now, but you should meet him at dinner.... Well, Mr. Fallin, will you be joining us for the evening meal? We'd be glad to have you.  
  
Burton smiled at the invitation, but shook his head. Thank you, but no. I'm flying back to Pittsburgh later this afternoon. I just thought I'd get Nick settled, and then head on back to the airport.  
  
Well, I'll leave you with your son then. Turning his attention back to Nick, the headmaster said, Nick, dinner is promptly at 5:00 on Sundays. Michael should be back in the room before that, so he should be able to take you downstairs. All right? Nick replied, Yes, sir, and Mr. Whitington smiled. Well, good, good. I'll leave you two alone now. With a last look at Nick, he added, We're very glad to have you here, Nicholas. I want you to know that. With those words, Mr. Whitington headed out the door.  
  
Father and son shared another silent look around the room. At last, Burton said, So, Nick, would you, uhm, like me to help you unpack?  
  
No, thank you, Nick answered tonelessly. I can do it myself.  
  
Well, okay then. Burton seemed to think a minute. Ohh, you'll be needing some walking around money'. Here...here's fifty dollars, son. That should tide you over for a while. As he handed him the money, Nick took it, and stared at it silently.  
  
His father continued, We'll have to work out what you're spending expenses are, and then I'll, uh, send you that amount each month. Now, take good care of that, Nicholas. That's a lot of money for a boy your age. I expect you to be responsible with it.  
  
Yes, sir. Nick replied, still not looking at his father.  
  
Burton looked around once more. Well, is there anything else you need before I leave? Anything you'd like me to do.... Burton's voice trailed off on the last sentence. He looked at his son expectantly.  
  
This time Nick looked up at his father, and said, No. You can go. I'm, I'm fine. To his immense relief, he hadn't cried yet. He was determined not to, at least not until his father had left.  
  
Well...well, I guess this is goodbye then son.... You, you be good and study hard. You, uhm, make me and your mother proud of you. Okay? Burton felt his own eyes filling as he said these words to his son.  
  
Nick just nodded silently. Burton stared at his son for another long moment, then reached forward, and clasped the child to him in a bear hug. Nick did not resist the embrace, but neither did he return it. Burton held on to his son for a moment, then released him, and stepped back.  
  
Without meeting his son's eyes, he said, Well, okay then, I'll see you later, son. You take good care of yourself, all right? Bye bye.  
  
Nick did not see his father walk out of the room. He had his attention on the floor boards. But once his dad was gone, Nick stepped over to the window. His room was on the front of the building so he had a view of the driveway where their rental car was parked. In a few minutes time he saw his father emerge from the building. Burton reached the driver's door of the car, but paused for a moment, and peered back up at the building. Nick stepped back from the window, not wanting his father to see him. After 20 or 30 seconds, Burton lowered his gaze, and opened the car door. He got in, and drove slowly away.   
  
As he watched his father's car disappear down the long drive, Nick began to breathe again. Without even realizing it, he had started holding his breath the moment his father had turned to look up at the windows. Now, he took another look around the room, and sat down on his bed. He was surprised that he wasn't crying. He'd expected to, but somehow he didn't feel like crying anymore. He just felt a great, yawning, emptiness inside. It seemed impossible to imagine that anything could ever fill that emptiness. After a moment, he got up from the bed, and slowly began to unpack.  
  
The End   
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
